There are leaves outside in a gentle haze of mellow light that signals the decline of the high noon sun and the slow march of evening with trumpets of rose and orange. These leaves know what lies outside. They shiver with the thought of tempests hurdling their way. The black clouds that already start to invade the horizon confront them with their mortality. With their fierce echoing growls they say “I am death. I am that which you fear, which you have always feared”.

There is little doubt in my mind that one day I shall see such a cloud. Alas, already I have seen portents of one, and have come close enough to their presence that I have trembled and let tears fall with the dark uncertainty that this cloud, this fearsome cloud looming in the distance, promises.

This entry was posted in Prose.

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